


Forever Walking

by TheBizarreHairTrio



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen, Reposted from FF.net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBizarreHairTrio/pseuds/TheBizarreHairTrio
Summary: This is a reposted fanfiction from FanFiction.net, specifically from my alt. account on that site, thebizarrehairtrio. I don't intend to change the formatting at all, since I'm lazy. Anyways! I've also been inspired to continue this fic! Stay tuned for extra chapters.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forever Walking](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/469958) by thebizarrehairtrio. 



**Title: Forever Walking**

  
**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

  
**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

  
**Rating: T**

  
**Category: Dark/Adventure**

  
**Pairings: None**

  
**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

  
**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

* * *

 

A board of black and white, clean and diverse.   
He studied the pieces carefully, all in messy patterns that had no relevance to one another at all. At least, to anyone but him. But he could decipher it. Only he.

  
He spared a glance to the dark mahogany chest, as tall as your average table but at least a third of the size, shoved into the corner carelessly. An opalescent green light, like always, shone through in tiny rays between the cracks, and it creaked and rattled every few minutes, like the thing it held inside was alive. Which it really wasn’t.

  
An inhuman grin split his face suddenly, but disappeared as soon as it came, regressing to the previous pensive frown like it had never materialized in the first place.

  
He let out a soft exhale, a bored sigh, staring intently at the black king piece, off the board and on the table. His fingernails tapped on the wood restlessly, and a humorless smirk curled his lips.

  
There was nothing to do. The Earl and his clan of Noah had disappeared the moment the wielders of Innocence, him included, failed to destroy them. The wielders were gone, souls devoured by that so-called ‘Crystal of God’ and trapped forever inside the vile substance.

  
He wondered when the war was finally going to pick up again.

  
Perhaps not for thousands of years, his subconscious muttered.

  
I’ll die! he complained jokingly. Or go crazy!

  
You’re immortal, it reminded him. And you currently are talking to yourself, so perhaps you already are crazy?

  
He sighed again, then snatched up the king piece, twirling it in between fingers. He could wait. He was patient. If there was anything being immortal taught him, it was the ability to wait.

  
He gently placed the piece amidst its fellows, then let the inhuman grin settle on his face, unbidden.

  
Make sure to put on a good show, Earl.

  
Though… Will you be able to win without all 110, Heart?


	2. Chapter One

**Title: Forever Walking**

  
**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

  
**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

  
**Rating: T**

  
**Category: Dark/Adventure**

  
**Pairings: None**

  
**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

  
**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

* * *

 

His mother had called him by the Hebrew name of Raz, which meant "secret." He was the eighteenth and last child of his father, whose name was Ofek. His mother was Ofek's third of six wives, called Nahal. He had fourteen older brothers and three older sisters. All his siblings, including himself, gained the power of the Crystal.

 

Their tribe was a close knit family. Everyone was related to one another. Everyone knew one another.

 

There were one hundred and ten children in all. One hundred and ten Crystals. All between the ages of ten and twenty three. He was the last of which to be accepted by the Crystal.

 

The Noah Clan had been a rival tribe with whom their tribe had fought with and triumphed over. The leaders never told them what their short war was about, and none of them had thought to ask.

 

They had attacked first, thirteen with grey skin and golden eyes. Their tribe had backed them up, not seeing how much of a monster each of the Noah were.

 

They had no choice. The human members of each tribe were killed, unable to defend themselves. So it left the holders of the Crystal and the Noah.

 

Neither could win. They were stuck in a deadlock. Three days. Three Days of Darkness. The world was destroyed in the span of three days.

 

The Earl and his Family retreated first, not unharmed but not defeated either. The wielders stayed, to mourn the passing of their tribe.

 

But the mourning was short lived.

 

He warned them. He warned them of the power of the Crystal. Such power could not be without price. He revealed his suspicions to Lev, the strongest and their leader. But he, like all the others, were consumed by their arrogance. And so the Crystal devoured their souls, trapping them forever within the Crystal. His own attempted to devour him as well, but he resisted, caging it. He alone survived.

 

But the Crystal would not let him go. He would walk forever until it could finally devour him. If that took thousands of years, so be it. The Crystal hated him, the Heart hated him, they all hated him. Because he could have helped them, yet he did not.

 

He was a selfish human.

 

* * *

 

 

There were dangers. Human memory would not forget. He could not keep going out with the same name and the same face. The dots would connect, and he would be hunted.

 

He liked the names Asher and Idan. He donned those names, constructed their identities. Asher, a boy blooming into manhood, had pitch black hair and a brown wool loosely wrapped head scarf, who preferred silence and had a naïve smile. Idan, a middle aged man, had light brown hair streaked with grey and a tattered dark brown cloak, who loved to converse with people and had a wise look to his features. He only used an identity a second time when he was certain that everyone who had known them were dead.

 

Then the world grew, expanding over continents. In England, he was an adolescent named Elias with his normal shade of auburn hair and a mischievous demeanor. In France, he became a young woman called Aalis with pretty golden strands. In Spain, he donned the costume of Ximeno, a brash and arrogant brunette noble. In Italy, he acted as Zuan, a poor bronze haired peasant with a love for music.

 

Magic was a pastime, something he learned when everything else became boring. It helped immensely, though, with his numerous characters to play as. They evolved with the times, with new masks joining his arsenal.

 

The Bookman Clan, however, were the most troublesome people of all. They never forgot. They recorded everything they saw. So he avoided them, covered his tracks. Made sure they never uncovered his involvement with any of those wars and rebellions. It was a risky game, and it excited him. It alleviated his boredom, if only for a few.

 

He couldn't wait until the time came for when he should reveal himself.

 

* * *

 

  
He found a girl called Katerina Eve Campbell with dark hair and dark eyes. She lived in a mansion in the middle of a wheat field with a few servants and a dying grandmother.

 

His name was Andrew, no surname, about the same age as her. Bright caramel hair and friendly but wary.

 

Katerina and him became friends, but this wasn't just some leisurely pastime. This girl would become instrumental in this war, indirectly of course.

 

She was special. Specifically, she would be special. To Adam. To the Millennium Earl.

 

He watched as she and Adam became friends, then fell in love. These emotions would no doubt rip the Earl apart. However, even he did not know what would happen. He certainly did not expect the literal split of the Earl into twin infants. It was almost funny.

 

He cemented a position within the Campbell mansion for himself in the future, as a servant, promising Katerina to "send a relative of his who would happily serve the boys when they grew up." Hopefully, he would be able to begin his attendance to the "twins" when they began their adolescent years.

 

The gears were turning, for him and for the war.

 

He wondered what would happen once the twins realized their origins. It, he mused, would probably prompt a series of desperate and horrendous events resulting in death for either one or maybe both.

 

* * *

 

 

His name was Alojzy Jedynak. He had long platinum blonde hair in a low ponytail tied back with a blood red ribbon. He was twenty six years old, nosy, friendly, and had a soft spot for children. He had lived in a small Polish town until it burned to the ground in a freak accident when he was twelve. He and his mother were the only survivors. His mother was always ill after that, and died when he was fifteen. His current occupation was a wandering, helpful magician.

 

Elaborate, sad back stories were always his favorite.

 

He wandered through a small town in Poland called Jeleniewo, feeling a bit tired. Hopefully there were openings at the inn, if there even was an inn in this tiny village.

 

"Watch it, brat!"

 

He whirled around, just in time for a small body to crash right into his legs, bowling him over onto the ground. He landed on his backside, the weight that fell on top of him quickly getting up.

 

"I didn't mean it, sir!"

 

He glanced up, spotting a boy with wavy scarlet hair looking utterly frightened, although his body had taken a protective stance, as if bracing himself.

 

He smiled kindly, slipping into the role of 'Alojzy' with ease. "You don't need to worry, Chłopak. No harm done."

 

The boy peeked up at him through his bangs with suspicious amber eyes, and opened his mouth as if to speak, before he was interrupted by an enraged call.

 

" _Diabełek_!" The child paled, and tried to run, but a hairy arm snatched him up before he could. "Your worthless father won't pay his debts, so it's your turn!" A man with a dirty beard who strongly smelled of alcohol threw the boy over his shoulder, turning as if to leave, but a gloved hand stopped him.

 

Alojzy smiled at him, yet it had a slight warning edge to it. "Where are you taking _Chłopak_ , sir?"

 

"To pay off his useless father's debts," the man, who he identified as the barman, grunted. "It doesn't concern you."

 

"And how do you plan on having him pay those debts off?" he asked.

 

"With manual labor, obviously."

 

"What's the boy's father like?"

 

"A worthless drunk who spends too much money."

 

He frowned, then held a hand out. "Could I see the child for a second?"

 

The man narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "What for?"

 

"Just need to confirm something," he replied smoothly, leaving no room for argument. The barman nodded grudgingly, letting the boy down but staying near so as to catch him if he tried to run off.

 

Alojzy smiled patiently at the boy, who wasn't meeting his gaze at all. "Now, I need to check your skin, alright? Will you help me with that?" The boy stared at him through red strands, nodding slowly. "Thank you." He knelt down, then unbuttoned the lower buttons of his shirt, feeling the boy's wary eyes on him. He tugged up his shirt, eyes widening then narrowing at the discolored patches of skin all over the boy's torso.

 

"Did you also know that the man was abusing his child?" he hissed at the barman, who just shrugged, making his anger flare up.

 

"That man is a mean drunk. It's common."

 

"Well, I won't stand for it. I'm taking the child with me."

 

"Wait, you can't do that—"

 

"How much?"

 

"What?"

 

"How much does he owe?"

 

"Two hundred fifty Guineas."

 

"I'll pay off his debt in exchange for the boy." Alojzy pulled out the correct amount of notes and tossed them to the barman, who caught them. He then looked the boy in the eye, seeing a bewildered gaze staring back.

 

"Why are you doing this?" the boy whispered.

 

"Because, _Chłopak_ , you don't deserve to live like this." He placed a hand on the boy's chest, murmuring a healing spell under his breath, watching the bruises fade away.

 

The boy kept staring, wide eyed. "How'd you do that?"

 

He smirked. "It's magic." Then, an idea sprouted in his head. "I could teach you."

 

"Yes, please!" He broke out into a wide, hopeful smile. "I'd love to learn!"

 

"Alright, then." He held out his hand. "I am Alojzy Jedynak. What is your name?"

 

The boy took his hand and shook it gently, still smiling. "Cross Marian."

 

* * *

 

 

Cross Marian was a curious child. He was nine years old, an only child, and his father was his only living relative. His eyesight was terrible, something he had not thought much of until Alojzy found that he could not read properly. Once he had stopped being fearful, he grew more confident and became almost sassy. It was a nice change.

 

More importantly, he had talent. Talent to use magic, and he was quite smart. He would make a perfect tool, although he needed to teach him some key points before he learned anything.

 

"Your survival is your first priority," Alojzy said, staring down at Cross. "You must use whatever means necessary to live, even if it means sacrificing other people's lives. Only help if you can. Be patient, be confident in your abilities, but do not become arrogant. The moment you allow yourself to be prideful, you are already dead."

 

The red headed youth stared up at him, apprehensive yet still curious. "What do you mean arrogant? Why am I dead if I become like that?"

 

He is silent for a moment, then replies seriously, "I have watched humans who believed themselves to be superior; each and every one of them have gone up in flames for their conceit."

 

"Master..."

 

"Yes?"

 

"Why do you speak as if you are not human?"

 

"Sorry, _Chłopak_ , but that's a secret. Maybe I'll tell you when you're older."

 

* * *

 

 

He taught the boy as much as he could, leaving him to decide what to absorb and what to cast away. His biggest mistake (or greatest accomplishment?), however, came in the form of a seemingly innocent book left out in the open instead of locked away.

 

The title was: _Necromancy_ , _The_ _Art_ _of_ _Reviving_ _the_ _Dead_.

 

He had known very well that Cross had loved his mother dearly, even after her death when he was six. He supposed that he should be thankful, that the Noah Memory of the Earl had not visited him, asking that dreaded question with that horrible smile.

 

Then again, maybe this was worse. He had no idea that he missed her this much.

 

Cross was eleven, he should have known better. There was no reviving the dead, yet he attempted it.

 

They visited his old town, where they found the boy's father dead, drowned in the lake after a particularly long night at the bar. No tears were shed. Cross spent most of the first two days at his mother's grave. He thought nothing of it.

 

The tortured screams, however, were hard to ignore. He knew it was Cross, the boy had snuck out believing him to be asleep, but he never really did have to sleep. He ran to the graveyard, a sickening sight meeting him.

 

Cross was screaming, on the ground, clutching at the right side of his face, where black tendrils were sprouting out of his eye and digging into his face like veins protruding out of the skin. His mother's coffin was dug up, the skeleton arranged in the middle of an elaborate circle enscribed with magic phrases.

 

Evidently, the boy didn't understand the requirements for "resurrection."

 

"Sh, sh, _Chłopak_ , remove your hands."

 

He screamed again, stubborn with his palms obscuring the horrific blackness eating away at his face.

 

"I can't heal you if you don't move them. Do you wish for death? I can assure you, it's not very pleasant."

 

Screams reduced into high pitched whimpers and whines, the single amber eye pleading to make it stop, make it stop—

 

He dropped his hands, and Alojzy's own occupied the space they left, murmuring spells under his breath to stop the black wisps from spreading. It halted, staying curled around his eye, the skin blackened, appearing charred and coal like.

 

"Can you open your eye?"

 

A shake of the head, accompanied by a soft whine.

 

"What were you doing?" He did not sound accusing, simply curious. He could not blame the boy, after all.

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it, I'm sorry, I just wanted to—"

 

"It's alright. It's not your fault."

 

"Are you going to abandon me?"

 

"No."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because it was an honest mistake. Besides, I shouldn't have left that book out. I should have taught you exactly what to avoid, what was forbidden."

 

"Master shouldn't blame himself."

 

"I know."

 

"... Why didn't it work, though?"

 

"Because she already decomposed."

 

"Then—"

 

"And you cannot revive the dead fully, not at your current level. Necromancy is a dangerous, difficult art, and only centuries of practice will give you the power to revive a person properly."

 

"Then what would have happened if she hadn't decomposed?"

 

"She would become a soulless puppet, only able to answer your commands. She would not be able to speak, to do anything independently. She would have no memories at all."

 

"... I'm glad she decomposed."

 

"Not as glad as I am, though. Forbidden magic always has consequences, and none are pleasant."

 

"Master?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Can you revive the dead?"

 

"That's a story for another time, _Chłopak_. Now let's find you something to cover up your face, okay?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Okay, this was kind of hard, because there were a lot of things I wanted to incorporate and some things just didn't fit together, and then I lost the document, so. Yeah, here's this trainwreck.**

 

**A special thanks to KillerAkuma and Guest for reviewing!**

 

**Title: Forever Walking**

 

**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

 

**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

 

**Rating: T**

 

**Category: Dark/Adventure**

 

**Pairings: None**

 

**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

 

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

 

* * *

 

 

The Crystal kept finding wielders over the centuries. He observed them, particularly the wielders of the Heart (of Lev, his subconscious reminded him absently) and kept an eye on Apocryphos (Shamira, who hated him most). He kept track of the wielders, their names and the forms the Crystal took for them. He had time.

 

There were cults, organizations, that formed around the Crystal, but they never lasted. They were destroyed, trampled on, forgotten. His own rattled against its restraints, calling out to its fellows. (It was troublesome, since he still couldn't figure out how to shut it up, and had to move several times because of it.)

 

The Black Order formed.

 

He watched it, curious. This one actually lasted for more than a few years.

 

(Then again, it had the Vatican backing it up, didn't it?)

 

He wanted to laugh. A message from an ancient civilization that defeated the Earl? They wished! ‘The Cube,’ as they called it, was just the soul of Nissa, whose mother was mad and believed in fortune telling. Nissa, too, was mad as well, and an expert liar. He supposes that the Heart, that Lev, was ashamed at the fact that they did not defeat the Earl, and asked Nissa to concoct a proper fake message that stressed their strength.

 

How foolish.

 

He should be thankful, perhaps, that they only described one-hundred and nine Crystals. Or maybe they were aghast at the very thought of speaking of a traitor.

 

(Really, he didn't think of himself as a traitor. Shouldn't your own survival always come first? Were you obligated to help others after they brushed off your warnings? Perhaps those very acts were considered traitorous.)

 

And they called the Crystal ‘Innocence.’ Why Innocence? Why that name? He didn't understand why they gave the Crystal that name. Did they mean innocence, as in naïveté? Innocence, as in chastity? Or, God forbid, Innocence as in purity or virtue? If it is the last, then he had no words. The Crystal, the Innocence, was far from virtuous, from pure. What type of honorable substance devoured one’s soul?

 

Even more laughable, they referred to it as the ‘Crystal of God.’ They called the wielders ‘Apostles of God.’ They were in no ways holy, the wielders or the souls in the Crystal. They were human, dirty, wretched humans full of greed and selfish desires. (He did not refer to himself as nonhuman; he acknowledged his humanity but simply did not care. Then again, he and his tribe were much more than these humans descended from the Noah.

 

The Black Order was interesting. He did not like it, though, but he did not hate it either. It was simply a perfect example of evil human desires, expressions. The using of other humans. The disregard for human life. For an organization that was considered ‘holy,’ they were the perfect manifestation of human nature.

 

But of course, God wasn't the holy being he was made out to be. No, he knew, and his tribe knew, that God was simply bored. He wanted a performance, a play and a dance. Something to entertain him. So he created the Crystals, ‘blessed’ the Noah. Then, he sat back and watched it play out, cheering at the gruesome details and booing at the lax in activity.

 

(He could not accuse God of evil, however, because he was just the same.)

 

He laughed at the attempts to unravel the Crystals’ secrets. They were sentient, but much more than they believed. They were not simply focused on one thing, and only capable of choice of wielders and punishment of the ‘wicked.’ They had souls. They were people, had been people. And most were vindictive.

 

Take Shir, for instance. She was eternally envious, envious of those who had happy lives. She ruined families by bonding with young men and women who had perfect, loving families, and waiting, calling to the ‘Akuma.’ Then, she only ever activated when everyone was dead, only barely enough to save her wielder.

 

Really, though, he loved his tribe. Their anger, their rage, their envy, and all their ugly feelings. Most wanted to ruin as much as they can, ruin the lives of perfectly happy people. He loved it. Some simply bonded with those they took pity on, those who had terrible lives. Few just bonded with people on a whim, whoever was the closest or whoever had the best personality.

 

They had mixed feelings about him, too. Most hated him, wanted to kill him or basically get his soul devoured so he'd end up like them. Others were only despairing at the fact that he did not save them, even all these years later. And only a few were forgiving, understanding. He didn't care what they thought of them, though. They couldn't do anything to him, not without a wielder and the strength to take them over. (Of course, there's Lev and Shamira, but they can't find him.)

 

He was almost elated to find out that the Crystals, when 'synchronized' with their wielder to a certain degree, could speak to the 'exorcists.' Those souls inside the Crystals would probably have been going half insane from not being able to talk to another person outside the tribe. He didn't worry that they'd might reveal his existence. He didn't care. If they did, then he'd be able to come onstage early, and that's always good to him. Though he knew that they'd never speak of him, because he himself was practically taboo amongst them. And if they did, they'd have to explain what really had happened, which would reveal that the 'message' had been a lie. No, if they were still stubborn on fantasies of strength and victory, they would hold their tongues.

 

* * *

 

 

Cross joined the Order as a scientist, after a four year long apprenticeship with him. There were no real incidents after the failed resurrection, and he was almost bored. He was hoping that it'd be more exciting, but teaching really was just a bore, and keeping up the nice-guy act was tiresome. (He did enjoy racking up debts while acting drunk and throwing the boy to the collectors; it was sadistic pleasure for him and training for the boy for persuasion and escape.)

 

He made sure to monitor the Order through Cross, excited that he'd gotten a person on the inside. He smirked when Cross found an older exorcist named Maria who immediately began acting all motherly, despite a stream of constant high pitched protests. (He really had become a sadist after so long.)

 

He did know that Cross was smart, borderline genius, even. He'd only realized this truly when the boy came up with communication devices called "golems." (Even though it was a strange name; why golems?) He commandeered one, snatching it from a passing exorcist and disabling the tracking and communication with the Order, then took it apart and examined each part. It was impressive, with advanced mechanisms and a very delicate system. He decided to keep it, making sure to modify it to make it nigh unrecognizable.

 

Cross's intelligence would not be a problem, although he would need to cover his tracks with more layers and be more subtle while he manipulated events. He needed to be discreet, especially as he carved out the boy's path, taking care to keep him ignorantly believing that he was going where he wanted to go.

 

Poor _Chłopcze_ , thinking he was forging his own way while in reality he was just another marionette in the puppet show.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, he actually did care, contrary to what most people would think if they knew everything about him. (Which absolutely none do, save for his trio of silent occupied coffins shrouded from view and the Crystal rattling in his cabinet, though they hardly even count.)

 

He cared about his survival, for instance. Then again, everyone cares for their survival. Except suicidal people and those with martyr-complexes. But it did count as something.

 

However, he did allow himself to care exactly three times.

 

He had cared about a boy called Kurush, who grew into a man and was the first companion he'd had, fifty years after the Darkness, when he called himself Narseh. He, on a whim, told the boy of his origins. Kurush didn't mind. He was glad for that. But on his twentieth birthday, he died from a sickness that ate his heart.

 

Kurush had also been his first true attempt at necromancy. He turned the man into a puppet, with skin the color of death and bandages over his eyes, and locked away in a silver coffin with black iron chains. (The eyes of the dead, no matter how many times you've seen them, will always send shivers up your spine.) He knew the man would be furious, at him using his corpse like this. _No_ _respect_ _for_ _the_ _dead_ , he would say. That was okay. It wasn't like he'd had any respect in the first place.

 

Decima was his second failure. He didn't tell her of his origins, but he came close several times. He kissed her once, but he didn't do it a second time. It was weird, like kissing a sister. She was four years younger than his current role, Aetius, at twelve years old. She died after a construction mishap, when they were walking beside a temple in the middle of assembly, and a rope snapped and the block of marble fell, crushing her head. He reversed the damage, but she was already dead.

 

He took a second shot at necromancy. He failed. He dressed her up like an empress, a veil hiding her eyes, in a gold coffin with bronze chains. He knew she wouldn't care, because she didn't care about the body. She cared only for the soul. That, at least, was a comfort. She wouldn't be mad. (A pity, though; the afterlife wouldn't be quite what she expected.)

 

The final slack was Lykos. He was called Nikias. He was prepared, he was guarded, everything was perfect. But his defenses suddenly went lax, and he failed again. Lykos was beautiful, more than a man should be. He wanted to sculpt him and keep the statue forever. He didn't kiss him, and he didn't even try to touch him. It wasn't like that. He was like a painting; only for looking, not for touching. He died when... He didn't even know how he died. But his corpse was real, tucked into the extravagant bed with no visible markings anywhere. He didn't know how he died.

 

Necromancy, again. Even with death on his skin, he was beautiful. He needed to immortalize him, for his own selfish wants. His body did not deserve to be burned at the funeral pyre. He was too beautiful for such a fate. So he made him a king, with a wreath of gold and a white blindfold, in a bronze coffin with silver chains. Lykos was vain; he would want to be immortalized and worshipped. (But Lykos would only be for his eyes only, unfortunately.)

 

He didn't care after that. There were too many humans he'd encountered, but those three haunted him the most. Perhaps it was his fault, for not letting them go like he should've. But he was human, so he was foolish and selfish.

 

This was why he hated and loved humans. They were far too easy to get attached to. They took everything for granted. They had such short life spans. They always were causing pain.

 

He does care. Or at least, he did. He doesn't care anymore, but can you blame him? Those who live forever will see people be born then die, their lives only mere seconds to them. Getting attached would help no one, because he would always be left in the end.

 

Now he only cares for inanimate objects.

 

A black piano. A bronze lyre. A copper laurel wreath. A crystal goblet. A silver knife. An iron sword. As long as they're cared for properly, they will not die. (Especially if he casts a spell on them to be unaffected by time.) These objects are his, and he cares for them, because they will not leave him. They all have stories of their own, they all hold a certain significance.

 

Moreover, they are proof that he does care.


	4. Chapter Three

***Sigh* Sorry, it's a little late. I got sidetracked, and this was surprisingly hard to write. So, here's the Allen, Neah, Mana, and Katerina thing!**

 

**Special thanks to Darke13, CloudCarnivore, jy24, ShyMaryButterfly, AmatsuKitsune for reviewing!**

 

**Title: Forever Walking**

 

**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

 

**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

 

**Rating: T**

 

**Category: Dark/Adventure**

 

**Pairings: None**

 

**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

 

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

 

* * *

 

 

Why did the house have to be _so_ _damn_ _far_ _from_ _the_ _town_?

  
He – Allen – had almost forgotten how isolated Katerina’s mansion was. (And what was with all this wheat? She still hadn't come around to cutting it?)

  
He trudged up the hill, checking himself over again to make sure he was immersed in his role. Rags for clothes, check. Dirt and grime, check. Tangles and gnarls galore, check.

  
He liked being twelve. If he wasn't appearing as some street rat and had respectable clothes, women would be all over him, squealing about his cuteness and “innocent looks.” (He could've laughed at that one. _Innocent_ _looks_. Yeah, right.)

  
He reached the tree. _Cornelia_.

  
(His subconscious goes back – to Katerina and him as Andrew, chasing each other around, and then there's a curly haired stranger with a top hat and a cane –)

  
He ran his fingers over the bark, a smile tugging at his lips, filled with nostalgia. (Andrew was one of his favorite roles, so carefree and easy.)

  
“Hello, Cornelia,” he whispered to the trunk. “I'm back. Do you recognize me?”

  
He laughed to himself, and continued on his way to the French double doors, catching glimpses of running figures through the many windows. He tugged on the chain of the bell, and waited.

  
The doors are opened by an old maid, with wrinkles and white hair but a kindly smile on her face. (He remembered this maid – Veronica. It's a miracle that she's still alive.) Two small faces with dark hair and dark eyes peeked out from behind her, only to disappear in a racket of scurrying feet once his gaze landed on them.

  
So those were the ‘twins.’

  
“What business do you have at the Campbell mansion?” Veronica croaked out, squinting at him with cloudy blue eyes.

  
He slipped on the mask of ‘Allen,’ fidgeting under the scrutiny and working up the courage to reply. “My uncle sent me – his name is Andrew – and told me to ask for Katerina Eve Campbell.”

  
The old maid raised a thin eyebrow, and looked him up and down, then smiled. “Andrew, you say? Caramel hair and too much energy?”

  
Allen nodded hesitantly. “Yes… He was like that, before.”

  
She looked at him curiously, but shook her head and beckoned him forward with a bony hand. “Come in, come in. I believe the mistress would be very happy to meet you.”

  
He shifted uncomfortably, clearly reluctant, but he relented, entering softly and slowly as if trying not to disturb or sully anything. Veronica led him to what was probably a sitting room, where a lady with dark brown hair sat in an armchair, a book in her lap and a kind expression on her face that, surprisingly, wasn't fake. The role of Andrew that still lingered in him nearly chuckled – it was strange to see Katerina older when it seemed like only yesterday she was just sixteen. (That was the downside of immortality – years for normal people feel like mere seconds to him.)

  
Katerina looked up, her expression turning a bit surprised when her light eyes landed on Allen. "Veronica, who is this?"

  
"Begging your pardon, missus, but," the old maid ushered him forward slightly to give her a better look at him, "this is Allen, and he says Andrew sent him."

  
"Andrew... sent him...?" Katerina's delicate eyebrows furrowed in confusion, only to raise i surprise as she figured it out. "Oh! So he's – oh!"

  
Allen squirmed, decidedly twitchy under Katerina's stare. He looked up from his shoes in surprise when she held out a hand to him, which he took after a few moments of subtly veiled suspicion.

  
"So your name is Allen?" she asked, seemingly a bit breathless and excited. "You're related to Andrew?"

  
He nodded. "M'uncle." He paused, then tacked on, "Ma'am."

  
She smiled warmly, so nice and _bright_ that he averted his eyes, focusing his attention on her eyebrows instead of her blinding smile and nearly missing Veronica silently dismissing herself.

  
"How is Andrew doing? Was he unable to make the trip?" Her voice was tinged with a bit of concern.

  
Allen shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from twitching, staring down at the ground and not talking for several moments. "... He's okay now. He's got his own spot in the cemetery now."

  
Katerina blinked, then when his words registered, her eyes widened and became almost shiny as she covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh dear, not Andrew... You poor boy, I'm so sorry."

  
He shrugged, pointedly not looking at her or anything else except for the ground between his feet. "S'okay. It was a few months ago, and I didn't even know him long. But thanks anyways." He chanced a quick glance up at her, watching as she arranged her expression into a smile, most likely stowing away her grief for when she was alone.

  
She was a bit more subdued, her excitement bubbling down, but she kept up her warm smile which was dim enough to look right at without going blind. "What did he tell you, dear?"

  
He shuffled, trying to ignore the depressing atmosphere that draped itself over the room. (He could almost taste it – like soggy, bitter bread.) "Said all I needed to do was come to this place and ask for you. Said that you'd give me a job 'cause of a favor."

  
Her smile turned a bit sentimental, her eyes seeing something that was probably years ago. "Yes. He asked me to keep a servant position open for a relative of his that might come stumbling along." She turned her attention back to him. "Would you like to become one of the servants here?"

  
He regarded her with suspicious eyes, checking to see if she really was telling the truth. "Yes, please... Ma'am."

  
"That's good. In fact, I have two twin boys around your age and I'd really prefer if they had more interactions with those in their age group. Would you be alright with being their personal attendant?"

  
He let out a small hum of assent, a bit curious about her kids and hoping they weren't spoiled brats. She smiled, then called out, "Mana! Neah! There's someone I'd like you to meet!"

  
Pounding footsteps began above his head then became louder, and closer, until two blurs shot through the doorway, one throwing itself in Katerina's lap and the other hanging off the armrest of her chair.

  
"Mother!" the boy in her lap complained, with dark brown chin length hair in waves and similarly colored eyes. "Neah won't teach me piano, even though he promised!"

  
"I did no such thing!" protested the other, most likely Neah, with shorter dark brown unruly hair in spikes and matching eyes. "Mana's a liar!"

  
The wavy haired boy, probably Mana, turned to glare at him. "Am not! You _said_ you'd teach me!"

  
"I didn't, liar!"

  
"I'm not a liar!"

  
"You are too!"

  
"Am not!"

  
"Are too!"

  
"Am not!"

  
"Are too!"

  
" _Boys_." Katerina reprimanded, and the two boys halted in their arguments with identical huffs, a final glare at one another, then a petulant folding of their arms. Allen looked at them, amused.

  
Katerina sighed a long suffering sigh, one she probably did quite a few times, and touched her forehead briefly. "I'd like you to meet Allen," she said, turning both her boys' attention to the auburn haired boy. "He's agreed to be your personal attendant."

  
Neah spoke first, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "But Mother, he's so _dirty_!" Allen bristled slightly.

  
"Plus," chimed in Mana, "we don't want _him_! He probably doesn't know anything!"

  
"Boys!" Katerina frowned. "That's rude! Not everyone lives in houses like we do. Allen, dear, I'm sorry if they've offended you, they don't know how to hold their tongues."

  
Allen fixed the twins, particularly Neah, with a cold look. "You've obviously been pampered and spoiled," he stated blandly. "You wouldn't last one second in the real world."

  
"Oh yeah?" Neah snapped, ignoring his mother's disapproving stare. "You're just some street rat, what do you know?"

  
"A hell of a lot more than you!" shot back Allen, ignoring Mana and Neah's gasps. "It's 'cause I'm a street rat that I know more than you! Tell me, have you ever seen a corpse before? A corpse with his head smashed in and his brains spilling out? 'Cause I have! The stuff I've seen would give you nightmares 'til you're fifty!"

  
Neah and Mana both stared at him, stunned and faces pale, and he leaned back, triumphant. There was silence, until Katerina broke it.

  
"Boys, apologize to Allen."

  
They complied mechanically, muttering their apologies, still in a bit of a shock. Once they were done, Katerina gave them a look, and they scurried out of the rooms in a flash.

  
She turned her attention back to him. "Allen, I'd like you to know that I'd really rather not have any cursing in this house," she scolded lightly.

  
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I won't do it again."

  
She smiled, satified. "Now then! Are you hungry? Do you need anything? I'll have Veronica show you to your quarters right away if you want some time alone."

  
"M'alright. Not hungry. Can I just..." he hesitated, fidgeting again.

  
"Yes?"

  
He fiddled with his fingers. "Can I... Can I have a bath?"

  
She smiled at him. "Of course, dear. The boys have some clothes that might fit you, so you can wear those until we can get you a proper uniform, alright?"

  
He bobbed his head. "Yes, ma'am! Thank you so much."

  
"Oh, don't thank me, dear. Thank _you_."

 

* * *

 

 

"Why's Mother so fixed on _you_?" A sour voice asked, and Allen looked up from his place on the bed in his new quarters, fingers halting in their fiddling with his shirt buttons. He saw Neah and Mana, both leaning on opposite sides of the doorframe with equal intent looks.

  
He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Do you really want to know?"

  
"Obviously!" cried Mana. "It's just so weird, I can't figure it out!"

  
He sighed. "Well, apparently, my uncle was very good friends with her, and asked her a favor before he left. He requested a position at her house as a servant for his relative, which is me. Plus, my uncle died, so that must have something to do with it." He shrugged again. "But hey, I don't exactly know why, either. Maybe it's something else."

  
The twins were quiet for a moment. Then, Mana spoke up, voice a bit hesitant.

  
"Where did you live before this?"

  
"Why do you want to know?" He countered.

  
"Because we haven't gotten to go out at all!" replied Neah, frustrated. "Katerina says we're not old enough!"

  
He stifled a snort. "Well, I kind of lived on the streets, actually. Until five months ago, when my uncle found me. But even then, we just kept hopping from town to town, staying in ratty inns. So I don't think anything I tell you would be interesting."

  
"Y-You... You lived on the streets?" whispered Mana, fidgeting.

  
"Yeah." His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "It's not that big of a deal."

  
"You didn't have a bed or anything?"

  
He laughed mirthlessly. "Of course not! I slept outside, on the ground, most of the times in dinky alleyways. Out in the open wasn't safe. I'd be lucky if I found something to cover myself."

  
"But why didn't anyone help you?"

  
His smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at the twins. "Don't you know?" he asked coldly. "The world isn't all sunshine and rainbows. People don't give a damn about other people, 'specially if they're some dirty street rat."

  
They gasped again. "You swore!" yelped Neah.

  
"So?" He snapped.

  
"Swearing's bad!" chirped Mana. "Mother says not to!"

  
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, you wankers. Jesus, you're so sheltered, it makes me sick."

  
"What's a wanker?"

  
"A dumbass."

  
"You swore again! Imma tell Mother!"

  
"Don't you dare!"

  
(Maybe... I'll like it here.)


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT UPDATE

**HOLY SHIT, GUESS WHO’S BACK?? Anyways! Whoever still stuck around after all these years, guess who’s gonna get their long awaited update! You guys! I'm so happy I finally got the kick in the ass I needed to finish this up! While my writing style may be different now, I think I'll be able to pull off a couple chapters. Special thanks to jy24, Shinigami Merchant, TheDancingMelon, Codename-SN, and tewak for your positive feedback! Hope y’all are still here to see this one!**

**Title: Forever Walking**

**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

**Rating: T**

**Category: Dark/Adventure**

**Pairings: None**

**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

* * *

 

A beat.

 

(A single droplet falls into the puddle. It's loud, too loud. He can't hear anything.)

 

A second beat.

 

(His chest is heavy. There is no breath coming from his mouth. Something trails down his cheek. It's blood.)

 

A third.

 

(“Sleep now, •••. Rest and never wake.”)

 

Allen sat up, a hand clutching the fabric of his nightclothes over his heart and another touching the hollow of his throat. He breathed in. One, two, three, four. He held. One, two. He breathed out. One, two, three. He opened his eyes to the ceiling above.

 

(“Don't you hate God?”)

 

He chuckled sardonically. “To hate someone, you must acknowledge their existence first,” he murmured. He recalled a gloved hand reaching to him as he laid dying, beckoning him to take it.

 

(“Join me.”)

 

He scoffed. Why was he remembering this now? The closest he ever came to death… What a laugh. To think the Earl would say such lies… He had no interest in being a pet or a slave, for that would've been his destiny, had he taken that hand all those years ago. He was a coward, but he was not a servant. He bowed to no one. There was no one in this world who deserved his utmost devotion. 

 

“ _ ALLEN _ !”

 

Allen’s head whipped up at the screech of his name and paled, attempting to get out of bed as quickly as possible before he was downed. 

 

Mana, however, was not so easily deterred, and tackled the other boy around the waist. Allen fell back with an  _ oof _ , wind knocked out of him. The other simply laughed.

 

“Today’s no day to laze around in bed, Allen!” chirped the smaller, beaming up at him. The red haired boy sighed, exasperated, and began the process of prying Mana’s iron grip arms off of him. Hearing another set of laughter, almost identical to that of the one holding him captive, he turned towards the sound and made a disgruntled expression.

 

Neah, the other twin, leaned against the doorframe, a fist to his mouth as he shook with laughter. Their eyes met, and the dark haired boy’s mirth only grew louder. Allen's scowl deepened, before he gestured rudely at the other, careful not to let Mana see.

 

The shorter haired boy gasped inaudibly, before scowling back and mirroring Allen’s previous gesture, but was not so lucky to escape Mana’s vision.

 

“ _ Neah _ !” snapped Mana viciously. “What do you think you're doing?!”

 

Neah’s expression was reminiscent of a deer in headlights, before he petulantly stuck out his bottom lip and crossed his arms. “He did it first!” he accused.

 

“Did not!” defended Allen, suppressing his smug smirk. “That was completely undeserved!”

 

Mana squinted at his twin, before dramatically turning his nose up at him. “You're so vulgar and rude! Allen doesn't deserve your— your bullying!”

 

“He's the one bullying  _ me _ !” But Neah’s whining fell on deaf ears. Allen quickly dressed as Mana tugged him out of his room, ignoring Neah’s pouting completely. He followed behind sulkily, torn between making pleading eyes at the longer haired twin and glaring at the redhead.

 

In response, the redheaded boy turned around, pulled at the skin below his right eye to tug the lower eyelid down, and stuck out his tongue, smirking superiorly at Neah. The other scowled, gesturing rudely back, but unfortunately didn't get away with it yet again, seeing as Mana turned back around just in time to see.

 

“ _ NEAH _ !”

 

Allen laughed silently to himself, as one twin fought with the other.

 

(I think… I like it here.)


	6. V

**Okay, yeah, I'm churning out chapters suddenly quicker???? Than I expected???? I hope this makes up for the measly fourth chapter, it was really short.**

**Title: Forever Walking**

**Author: thebizarrehairtrio**

**Summary: Immortality wasn’t what he expected. The aging and de-aging randomly wasn’t either, but he managed. It was how the world bloomed into being, descended from those wretched Noah, that surprised him. Humans really were foolish creatures. (An insight on who Past!Allen may have been.) (Some canon divergence.)**

**Rating: T**

**Category: Dark/Adventure**

**Pairings: None**

**Warnings: Scheming!Past!Allen, Feigning-Ignorance!Current!Allen, Immortal!Allen, Semi-AU.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, D. Gray-Man belongs to Hoshino Katsura. (But I am working on it.)**

* * *

 

_ This… was not part of the plan. _

 

Allen’s smile grew fixed as he ushered in the visitors, the wrinkled visage of Bookman and his young apprentice. As they made their way to the parlor, the redheaded ‘boy’ glared darkly at their backs, fists clenched at his sides in a rare display of emotion.

 

_ Why are the Bookmen in Katerina’s house?!  _ He gritted his teeth, narrowed gaze on the recorders of history. 

 

Allen was self-assured, however, that they wouldn't discover his real identity. He had too many years to disguise himself and hide his true visage from the clan akin to carrion birds, descending upon the battlefield with ravenous hunger. He scoffed inwardly. He hated the Bookmen. Perhaps it were because they were like himself, attempting to stay uninvolved even whilst on the frontlines, killing their emotions and squashing down whatever personal opinions they had. A Bookmen was just another face in the crowd, amongst both clan and humanity as a whole. He sneered reflexively.

 

He  _ hated _ the Bookmen.

 

It was not only that, however. Neah and Mana were fast approaching their later adolescence, and with it, the awakening of their Noah. He couldn't let anyone realize the truth, until they themselves experienced it and gathered their ‘family’ together. It simply wouldn't do for the game to be uncovered before it even began, after all.

 

Snapped out of his musings at the sound of Katerina's welcome, the now fifteen year old boy moved to stand on the right of the doorframe, perfect to survey the upcoming conversation.

 

Katerina smiled kindly at her guests. “Welcome to my home. Is there perhaps a reason for your visitation today?”

 

Bookman shook his head in response, hands hidden in his sleeves. “Nay, we are simply travelers searching for a place to rest.”  _ Lies, _ hissed Allen inwardly.  _ You are anything but travelers. _

 

Delicately placing a hand over her mouth, the head of the household kept her kind smile. “Oh! Unfortunately, any sort of inn is miles away from my home… The Campbell manor is rather isolated from the rest of the world, which is what I enjoy about it, but seems to be a hindrance for your needs… Oh, I know!” She clasped her hands together over her chest, and Allen grimaced.  _ Please don't say what I think you're about to say…  _ “I offer you my home until you are well-rested enough to continue on your travels!”

 

Allen nearly facepalmed in response, but outwardly kept his impassive countenance.

 

Bookman nudged his apprentice to stand, and as one, they bowed to Katerina. “Your hospitality is most appreciated, Lady Campbell.”

 

Katerina tittered softly, before smiling at the Bookman apprentice. “And your grandson is welcome to play with my sons and Allen. What's your name, dear?”

 

Allen observed as the mask fell into place, the apprentice lifting his arm to rub the back of his neck and smile almost bashfully. He rolled his eyes. “I'm Elias, ma’am, but most people call me Junior.”

 

“Ah, you're such a polite boy! Allen!” Katerina waved him over. “Take Elias over to Neah and Mana are, wherever that is?”

 

Allen smiled welcomingly at the apprentice. “I believe they're in the piano room yet again, Miss Campbell,” he informed her.

 

She sighed in response, exasperated but fond. “Of course they are. Encourage them to run around outside?”

 

“I'll do my best.” He bowed slightly, before gesturing for ‘Elias’ to follow him. They exited the parlor, leaving the adults behind to continue speaking, and maneuvered their way down the hallways, the apprentice two steps behind the immortal, both wearing fake smiles.

 

_ Oh, the irony, _ sighed Allen. He turned to the apprentice, halting their progression. “Can I call you Junior?” he asked. It seemed an innocent question, but he wondered if the Bookman apprentice would realize the underlying message. 

 

He refused to call him by a fake name. In the end, the apprentice’s identity was simply Bookman Junior, no matter what name he claimed he owned. He didn't wish to address him by the mask while he was aware of its presence.

 

The apprentice blinked, looking rather confused even through the mask, but nodded. “Of course. And you are… Allen, correct?”

 

The other nodded as well. “Yeah. Welcome to Campbell manor, Junior.” He turned, continuing on their walk to the piano room in silence.

 

Gradually, the sound of the piano filled their ears, and Allen unconsciously relaxed his shoulders, smiling fondly. It was the Earl’s precious lullaby, taught to his fragments by Katerina. It was Neah who played as if the notes were engraved upon his very soul, while Mana sang as if the words were ever present in his being. He glanced at Junior, whose mask couldn't conceal the instinctive awed expression and softened eyes. The melody was always beautiful to hear, even to him, who knew its origin.

 

They came upon Neah, focused on fingers dancing across the keys, while Mana sat with his back to his twin’s, eyes closed as he sang the lyrics to the melody his other half played. Neah’s hair was as short and ruffled as it was the first day Allen met him, three years ago. Mana’s, on the other hand, was long, reminiscent of the Earl’s, and tied in a low ponytail with a ribbon Allen procured from his trips to town. The twins were twelve now, to his fifteen, and were still as annoying as they were the day he met them.

 

(Well. Maybe not Mana.)

 

The song ended, and both twins opened their dark eyes, landing on the boy behind him in eerie unison.

 

“Allen!” Mana came forward first, throwing an arm around the older boy, peering at Junior while twirling a sidelock around a finger. “Who’s this?”

 

Neah narrowed his eyes suspiciously under his bangs, getting to his feet and crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, Allen, who's this?”

 

“A guest,” he provided, returned the half hug Mana gave him. “His name is Elias, but you can also call him Junior. His grandfather is with Katerina in the parlor.”

 

Both twins grimaced, knowing their mother’s weakness for guests who come to the mansion. She could never turn them away, what with the next town being miles away. 

 

“Alright then!” Mana stuck out a hand to Junior, smiling widely. “I'm Mana D. Campbell, and that over there is my twin, Neah D. Campbell! Nice to meet you, Elias!”

 

Junior took the outstretched hand and shook it, smiling back with his mask of ‘Elias’ firmly in place. “It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well, Mana. I'm Elias, or Junior, as you already know.”

 

Neah rose an eyebrow, coming closer until he stood behind Mana’s other shoulder not already occupied by Allen. “No surname?” he asked curiously. His twin smacked his side, ignoring his yelp of protest.

 

“Sorry about him! He’s rude,” explained the longer haired twin. “It's been years, and he still hasn't warmed up to Allen at all!”

 

Neah muttered something along the lines of “I'm not rude, it's an honest question”, dodging the next smack his twin sent his way in the nick of time. “Mana!” he complained.

 

“Neah!” mimicked said twin. Allen rolled their eyes at their antics. 

 

“Welcome to Campbell manor,” he deadpanned at Junior. “Greatest place on Earth.”

 

The apprentice snickered in response.

* * *

 

“So…” 

 

“Yes, Junior?” 

 

“Are you…” (Are you magical? There's something about this mansion, Allen. There's something in the air, in the field of wheat, in the gnarled tree with a name. There something about Neah and Mana, about that song, about Katerina and her missing lover, and about you. I want… I want to know what it is.)

 

“Junior?”

 

“It's… nothing. I was just going to ask if you needed glasses!”

 

“Glasses? What makes you think that?”

 

“Well, you see, I've been observing you lately, and—”

 

(I… guess I'm too cowardly to ask, aren't I?)

* * *

 

“Elias!” called Mana, waving him over from his perch on Cornelia’s branches. Neah smirked down, his position even higher up than his twin’s. The Bookman apprentice stared up at the pair, looking for Allen unconsciously. 

 

“Where's Allen?” Immediately, Mana’s happy face turned sour, pouting while Neah’s own expression spasmed.

 

“Mother sent him into town,” he said in an almost whiny tone, kicking his feet back and forth. “We're not even allowed to go with him, and she won't send anyone else up him!”

 

Junior recalled the other servants of the household, noting their old age. “Well, it's reasonable. I don't think Veronica or the others would be able to make the journey.”

 

“Probably wouldn't survive the journey,” Neah commented callously. It said something about how upset Mana was that he didn't even scold his twin.

 

“It'll be alright,” Junior attempted to reassure them. “He'll be back before you know it.” Seeing Mana’s narrowed eyes, he hastily tacked on, “Maybe he'll even bring back souvenirs for you!”

 

At this, the grouchiness on Mana slightly lifted, while Neah scowled at him. “Stop talking like you're a grown up,” he said snobbishly. “You're still a kid, you know.”

 

“I'm  _ fourteen! _ ” replied Junior hotly. “If anyone’s a kid here, it's you!”

 

“Allen’s older than you!” Neah shot back. “So you’re also a kid!”

 

“But  _ I’m _ older than you! So out of the four of us, you and Mana are the youngest! Ergo, you're the kids!”

 

“Stop fighting!” complained Mana, cutting off his twin before he could respond. “You guys can be so annoying!”

 

Neah looked away, chastised, while Junior mentally berated himself for getting so caught up.  _ This family… is very dangerous, _ he realized.  _ I started thinking of them as actual people and began caring, even after this short while. I forgot I wasn't Elias, just wearing the face called ‘Elias’. _ His eyes narrowed behind his glasses.  _ Who… are these people? _

 

“—go to the piano room. Elias, you coming?” Junior was snapped out of his thoughts by Mana’s smiling face and outstretched hand.

 

“Oh, yes, of course. Maybe Neah will be able to teach me how to play, if he doesn't burst into flames at my proximity,” he teased. Aforementioned twin whipped around to glare and gesture rudely at him in response, not even bothering to dodge Mana’s smack upside his head.

 

“I bet I could teach you!” the shorter haired twin snapped. “Even if you were the worst piano player ever,  _ I'm  _ your magnificent teacher who’d be able to make you a good player through my esteemed guidance!” 

 

“You're on!” declared Junior in response, smirking. “I bet you'll fail!”

 

With a laugh, they raced across the fields, long brown hair whipped behind the older as he chased the pair of dark haired twins back to the mansion.

* * *

 

Junior awkwardly patted Mana’s back as he clung to his front, sniffling. “Do you really have to leave?” he asked mournfully. Junior nodded solemnly.

 

“Sorry, Mana. But we have to move on.” He was mindful of his master’s critical gaze on him, inwardly wincing at the future lecture he'd receive. He didn't  _ mean _ to get attached. This mansion… The people here, Mana, Neah, Allen… They were just so very easy to get attached to.

 

Neah stared at him, struggling to remain impassive even as his eyes glistened suspiciously. “Listen up, weirdo!” he declared. “If I ever see your face again, you better be able to play at least decently and gotten rid of your annoying smirk!”

 

Of its own accord, Junior’s arm stretched out, and patted the top of Neah’s unruly mess of hair. Both people froze in unison, before the younger grasped the older’s wrist, tears starting to slide down his cheeks.  _ Please don't leave, _ his grip conveyed. With Neah’s hold on his wrist and Mana’s embrace around his torso, Junior felt his resolve almost start to crumble. He looked up, meeting silver eyes with his own blue ones.

 

“You have a dream, don't you?” asked Allen softly. His expression was sad, but encouraging. Junior was spellbound under his gaze. “You have a goal to complete. Don't let us hold you back from your wishes, Junior. We'll be here.”  _ Waiting _ , was what went unsaid.

 

He could feel a sob build up in his throat, and tore off his glasses, tossing them to a surprised redhead, who caught them. “I noticed your vision sucked!” he said through heaves he turned into hysterical laughter. “So keep those safe for me, okay?”  _ Until we meet again. _

 

“I promise,” swore Allen, before his tone turned lighthearted. “While they aren't my style, I'll do it.”

 

Junior laughed. If it sounded more like sobbing, that was nobody's business but his own. “Bye, Mana. Bye, Neah. Bye, Allen.”  _ What have you done to me? Look at what you've done to me. Now, with this… will I ever become Bookman? _

 

He turned away, following behind his master. He didn't look back.

 

“Discard your name,” Bookman said. “There's a new war for us to record. It’s a secret war, although it hasn't truly begun quite yet. Do you have a name in mind?”

 

Junior breathed in the scent of the wheat, the wind whipping his hair around his face. He took a black ribbon, one of Mana’s he gave him, and tied his hair back. “Yes. This time, I'll be…

 

“Allen.”


End file.
